5x Family
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Five times Dean was there for Sam. [Set between childhood and basically S1. T for language.]


**5x Family**

"Dean...?"

Four-year-old Sam Winchester stood at the edge of his brother's bed, clutching at a stuffed black dragon plush and his blanket in the other hand.

"Dean...?"

Dean shifted a bit, mumbling in his sleep. Thunder crashed, echoing around the house, and lightning lit their small room.

Sam winced. "Dean!"

Dean awoke with a start, looking around the room with wide eyes before settling on Sam. "Sammy? What are you doing?"

"It's storming!"

"So? Dad says it's just-"

Thunder cracked. Sam flinched again, squeezing his eyes together tightly.

Dean sighed. "C'mere," he muttered, pushing the blankets aside.

Sam hurriedly crawled into bed next to Dean, curling up next to him, curling up around his dragon plushie and his blanket.

"You _know_ that we aren't s'posed to be afraid of storms. They're actually really cool, Sammy." Dean wrapped his arms awkwardly around his little brother.

"Scary," Sam muttered, burrowing down in the blankets.

There were worse things.

Dean didn't say that out loud, though.

* * *

Dean leaned over, peering at the .38 Special in the showcase. He'd started learning the names of gun at the age of eight, so at the not-so-tender, in their case, age of twelve, a well-crafted gun was like a prize painting.

"You think Dad would like this one?"

No answer was forthcoming. Dean raised his head, looking to his side. Sam wasn't where he had been standing, two minutes ago. "Sam?"

Dean cast his gaze up and down the aisle, and the next one over, but Sam was nowhere to be found. "Sam!" he yelled, leaving the .38 Special behind in favour of sprinting down the aisles of the flea market. "Sammy!"

If he lost Sam, Dad would never forgive him. It was his job to watch Sam. He was the big brother; it was his job to make sure that Sammy was alright. And if he _wasn't_ alright, not only would Dad not forgive him, Dean wouldn't forgive himself because that was Sammy, little Sammy, and they wouldn't be a family if Sam wasn't alright-

Dark hair and a stripey bag of popcorn drew Dean's attention over to the seven-almost-eight year old kid walking over towards him. Sam.

"Sam!" he yelled. "What did I tell you about wandering off?!" he demanded, grabbing his brother's arm.

"Ow!" Sam pulled away. "Stop it! I wanted popcorn!"

"Why didn't you tell me!"

"I did but you weren't listening! You're only interested in those stupid guns!"

Dean glared right back at his little brother for a moment before huffing. "I am not. I just thought it was cool." He kicked at a clod of dirt strewn across the linoleum floor. "... Did you want to get something besides popcorn? Dad said we could buy whatever we wanted to eat until he got back."

Sam looked up at him. "... Can we get sweet corn on a stick?" he asked slowly.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Come on." He paused before offering his hand over to Sam, turning his head away.

"I don't want your hand, that's gross!"

Dean smacked the back of Sam's head. "Stupid."

"Buttface!"

Dean rolled his eyes.

* * *

"Hey. Piss off."

The instruction wasn't taken lightly and the fist-fight that ensued rivaled the one that had just been broken up, but the seventeen-year-old elder Winchester sent the bullies scampering with little fuss.

Sam rubbed blood from his split lip, looking up towards his older brother.

"Why were they beating you up?" Dean intoned, holding his hand down to Sam.

Irritation of all of a thirteen year old subjected to bullying snapped forth, reaching a crescendo and reaching out to slap Dean's hand away. "I don't need your help!" Sam hissed, pushing himself to his feet and staggering a few steps away. "I can fight my own battles!"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You've got a bleeding lip and a blackened eye. I don't think you're doing so hot at it."

Sam glared for a moment before his shoulders slumped, his fingers prodding at his swelling lip gingerly. "They were saying things about Dad."

"Oh." Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the brick wall. "Good enough reason, then."

Sam looked at Dean, narrowing his eyes slightly and wincing at the pain that accompanied the movement. "What? Not going to reprimand me, _big brother_?"

Dean shrugged. "Nope. Nobody talks shit about our family, Sammy."

Sam sighed and leaned back against the wall, too.

"Next time, kick them in the nuts."

Sam laughed dryly. "Doesn't that break bro code or something?"

"Don't let people walk on you, or your family. Nobody's allowed to do that," Dean replied. His face, and tone, were serious. "Not family."

Sam just nodded slowly.

* * *

Just because Sam exploded on both of them didn't deter them from their job. Graduation was normal, safe; demon possession in town wasn't.

Dean didn't mention that he actually _wanted_ to be there... It was just... shit happened. And typically, a lot of shit happened to them by default.

Still, there was something to be said for finishing the job early and gunning it back to the school in time to see his little brother get his name called and walk up to get his diploma. Yeah, something about this was probably special. Dean had never graduated, himself, dropping out early to help Dad and help support the family. But Sam looked smart in his cap and gown; smart, but also really fricking stupid because it looked like a stupid oversized tablecloth he was wearing, which Dean wouldn't fail to mention, but smart nonetheless.

Yep. He was definitely proud of him.

Sam didn't look particularly happy himself, mouth still set in the firm line it had been last night when John had said that he and Dean were off to go hunting.

Dean stepped forward a bit to lean against the nearby tree, stifling his groan against his teeth as the pressure reminded him of a displaced shoulder. It was in that moment that Sam's gaze fell on him directly, across the lawn of the outdoor graduation. _He must have been looking_, Dean thought, as he grinned at his brother and mimed taking off a hat and giving a little bow. That movement reminded him of a pulled muscle in his left leg as he shifted his weight in the process.

Sam's stony expression cleared. Dean could practically see him roll his eyes from the distance as he grinned back, shaking his head as he walked back to his seat.

Dean was struck with the all powerful, insane urge to strip his clothes and streak across the field, which Sam would kill him for later, but he was splattered with blood as well as packing heat. Inducing panic at your little brother's graduation... not the best story to tell.

Instead, he just leaned heavier against the tree and watched his brother walk across the lawn.

* * *

"_Sam_!"

Dean pulled the trigger of the gun, rock salt exploding off into the spectral form nearby. Sam collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud and didn't move.

"Sam." Dean dropped the rifle and shoved furniture out of the way. "Sammy!" He dropped down next to his brother, jambing his fingers against Sam's throat and holding the other in front of his nose. He was still alive. "Wake up, you lazy bastard." He patted his cheek roughly a few times. "Sam! That spooky bitch is still flying around here. Wake up. Oh, for-" He grabbed Sam's shoulders and hauled him into a sitting position, painfully hoisting him up and over his shoulder. "Lose some weight, dude."

"... Did you just call me fat...?"

Dean staggered slightly, doggedly tracing their path here to get back out. He had to get Sam back to the car at least. "Oh, _now_ you wake up," he muttered.

Sam snickered weakly and then coughed, his body wracking against Dean's.

"Sam," Dean started, glancing sideways. _You better not be seriously hurt, because you know I can't do this without you._ "You better not be coughing up blood all over the back of my coat. I _just_ had the damn thing dry cleaned."

Sam laughed again weakly. His hands curled around fistfuls of Dean's jacket loosely.

Dean tightened his grip around Sam's torso. He was never letting this kid go. Twenty-two years old or not, he didn't care what Sam said about it; he wasn't letting anything happen to him.

"... 'm gonna fall, Dean," Sam muttered, his grip tightening on Dean's coat.

"No, you're not," Dean huffed. "If you stop squirming, you won't."

"... Your shoulder's in my gut."

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly a party down here for me, freshmen fifteen."

Sam didn't laugh this time, not even from the jibe. He just sort of groaned in response, head dropping down against Dean's back again.

"Just hang on. We'll be at the car in a minute," Dean muttered, picking up the pace.

* * *

**And I write another story that's basically Dean-centric and why because Sammy is my favourite but Dean is more complex in S1 so I end up mostly in his head when I'm writing. Dx I love their brotherhood.**

**Please no spoilers for anything post S1 finale. :)**

**I do not own _Supernatural_. Thanks for reading!**


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